


Ashburnt

by Pyrosane



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:59:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyrosane/pseuds/Pyrosane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Tell me about 1942," Bucky says.<br/>"What do you want to know?" <br/>"All about you."<br/>Steve swallows. How to talk about himself without talking just as much about Bucky Barnes? But Bucky looks expectant, so Steve gives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The Captain lies.

_You’ve known me your whole life._

The Captain is a liar, a fake, a cheated coin flip with tails on both sides. He should know. His whole life he has known nothing but the values of calculations. The reliability of understanding the mechanics of garrote-wire and a semi-automatic emptied of targets. Targets, not compassion, not like the hazy hues of the Captain’s eyes.

_Half-lidded blue is sleepy and they throw couch cushions on the floor, crackers flying everywhere-_

_“I’ll bet if you asked Carmen Jones to the dance, she’d say yes.”_

_“C’mon, Buck. The fort’s getting cold.”_

_“Well, hold it down ‘till I get there.”_

_Bucky waits until Steve moves before he goes crashing down into rutted fabric, all too aware of Steve’s bony limbs that would snap under Bucky’s own-_

It is not without compunction that he rams a fist into the Captain, who takes the hit as if it was meant for him. Beneath them the lake boils, a terrible hiss escaping as fire churns water and for the first time in a long time, the winter soldier feels heat.

There is no white flag of surrender because the winter soldier knows one when he sees one, and this is the furthest thing from it. The Captain is unyielding, his shield is nothing but a ring of tin and the Captain is no ruler with an iron fist, not in the slightest. Rather, the issue is the price on the Captain’s head and the blood that suddenly seems to matter.

The issue is that the winter soldier has not known the Captain for all his life, he has _just remembered_ who the Captain is, and a mission that was never his fixes itself in his thoughts like it has always been there. To undo the past some million years of perfunctory comprehension and take Steve’s hand and run, the way he had wanted to in the war. The first war, not the one they fight on different sides now. The first war, when trenches were dug far beneath white suns that turned out to be explosions and rapid gunfire. The smell of smoke still lingers in the winter soldier’s lungs and he notices that it is not from the sinking aircraft but the memories, the ones that make him draw his fist back in a rare fit of clarity. He recognizes them as Brooklyn back alleyways, a cigarette turned-stub under ashburnt soles.

Steve is damaged by choice and the winter soldier traces Steve’s name and only Steve's name with his tongue over teeth.

The winter soldier grabs Steve’s body and takes a plunge.

He sees everything the way it is. The water is a myriad of falling debris, steel pieces sinking with muted groans and copper wire poking at him like hungry snakes from all sides. He struggles, for a moment, to locate where the hell he needs to be in order to get Steve out of the water and on solid ground. Steve always did have trouble breathing, even after that serum, around beautiful dames and -

the winter soldier spots the shore and his thoughts are cut short when he drags Steve out along with himself, but doesn’t leave because the kid can tell him all about 1942. So instead, he pushes at Steve’s chest. He breathes air into Steve’s lungs. They used to share lives before then, too.

By the time Steve chokes awake and coughs up water flush with a dark pink, the winter soldier has made up his mind.

He will go by Bucky, and he will take Steve with him.


	2. Tablespreads

Where Steve wakes, the air cuts thin with unfamiliarity. Outside, a motor roars and there is a flash of red and blue followed by a hush. Everything settles back to his own rigid breathing mirrored by the cry of crickets. The summer is different here. Steve recognizes this place as anywhere but D.C.

The man beside him shifts.

The air is harsh now, suffocating, and Steve grows tense with anticipation. A fight not yet fought takes hold in his fists as he realizes that he is in a motel room of sorts, somewhere small and dusty and probably out in the middle of nowhere. Even the slightest movement causes the bed beneath him to creak. A heavyset television sits neglected at the front of the room, antennas wary with age. There is a dim lamp to his side. It is the only thing lit in the room. Everything else is dull and dark. Again, the man next to Steve stirs, and finally, Steve looks up.

“Tell me about 1942,” Bucky says.

“What do you want to know?”

“All about you.”

Steve swallows. How to talk about himself without talking just as much about Bucky Barnes? But Bucky looks expectant, so Steve gives.

“You followed me into the jaws of death once.” A pause. And then, “I’m sorry that you did.”

 ****"I'm not," Bucky says, abrupt. Soft. Bucky's left arm hangs limp and Steve notices that Bucky isn't 1942 anymore.

**Author's Note:**

> I should be studying.


End file.
